I was looking at the tumult of indigo and turquoise, as we dived are hands now separated. I looked at the enveloping waves beneath, at their majestic and overpowering nature. At their dreadful skill of submerging a man, and both captivating him. So many ships had survived that tumult, that endless churning and restless turning that never ceased; only calmed and then became a maelstrom of petrifying ferocity. I dived into it and with inevitable sureness it enveloped me with a tide of destruction. As I struggled and gasped to the surface before another wave struck me violently I looked at my sister, involved in the same struggle as me but executing it with skill and precision. My body was pushed against a grey rock enveloped by slime that reeked of salt; I find myself lucky I didn’t cut myself against it and sustain a wound. As I struggled up the rock my fingers gripped at edges and crannies in the rock. I scaled it out of what felt like willpower alone and as I inspected the state of my hands I looked at my sister still wheezing for air, and suddenly I felt fortunate. My mind was flooded with predictive grief, and hoping to prevent that scene in my mind I dived and let my body be encompassed and engulfed by the sea and I swan through the invisible underwater currents of the sea only a minute distance underneath the surface. I pushed her upwards to take a deep, sustaining breath and then shoved her downward and swam for the rock with her under my arm. And on that day I had saved both our lives. I was celebrated as a hero, a steadfast young man. One day when we were riding in a black upholstered carriage going to a father’s estate from our uncle’s holding in France I asked my sister why she jumped, she looked pale and embarrassed but continued on speaking, “The blue waves looked so enticing, like poetry, it looked so gentle. I though that I could thrash against the waves, overpower them.” I smiled at her. We talked idly the rest of the carriage ride.